Day 16: Magnificent Seven: Amor Omnia Vincit
Author: temaris
Fandom: Magnificent Seven (Old West)
Rating: PG-15
Characters: JD Dunne
Summary: Hope springs eternal.
A/N: no warnings. Set somewhere in the middle of the pilot.
Mr. Larabee had gone off with Mr. Tanner. He'd followed them a little way, his hat carefully tucked under his elbow, ducking behind the boulders and into the dips and crevices in the rocks to keep from being seen. Not far. Not close enough to listen. Not even close enough to see. Not after...
He can feel his skin flushing red again and cursed his fair skin. No one was watching and he still felt the burn of remembered humiliation. It seemed that coming out West hadn't improved his record that way any. He closed his eyes, then stiffened his back and cautiously peeked around the rocks. He could just make them out, limned by the glare of the sunset, and squinted, staring into the sun until he started seeing spots and had to stop. Neither man turned. They didn't seem to be doing anything, and he slumped back down onto the ground behind the biggest of the concealing rocks.
Mr. Larabee was just -- just *everything* he'd been led to believe. Cool, sharp witted, so brave! And JD had gone and made a complete idiot of himself. Every daydreamed fantasy where he walked up to Mr. Larabee and was welcomed as a worthy companion was shattered, trampled into the dust right along with his hat and his dignity. He couldn't even pretend it was anyone's fault but his own. He'd screwed up his chances all by himself. He groaned, burying his face in one hand.
And now Mr. Tanner was probably going to even get the privilege of Mr. Larabee's bed as well as the right to call him 'Chris', he thought dejectedly. Chris.
Such a distinguished sort of name. Chris Larabee. The stuff of legends. Not like JD Dunne, who was apparently the stuff of burlesque.
He took a cautious peek over the rock, but the two men hadn't moved. At least they weren't sitting any closer than they had been. On the other hand, he wasn't sure they *could* get much more close together.
He dropped back to his hiding place and carefully undid the placket of his trousers. He hadn't done this since he'd arrived, and well. This was as close as he was going to get, so he might as well... think about narrowed eyes, a strong grip, soft, flyaway blond hair. Snapped orders. Powerful thighs. Slanting glances and swift, gun callused hands. He sighed, stiffening swiftly, and finished almost as fast. He bit at his free hand to keep quiet and not disturb them until he was done.
He scrubbed his hand through the sandy dirt to clean it and sighed. It wasn't much, but he was here. He *was* going to be a part of the fight. There was always another chance, another day. Maybe tomorrow would be better. He'd prove himself in battle. Buoyed on a renewed sense of optimism he tidied himself up and ambled back to the camp.
And who knew. Maybe he shouldn't dismiss his hopes so easily.
Fandom: Magnificent Seven (Old West)
Rating: PG-15
Characters: JD Dunne
Summary: Hope springs eternal.
A/N: no warnings. Set somewhere in the middle of the pilot.
Mr. Larabee had gone off with Mr. Tanner. He'd followed them a little way, his hat carefully tucked under his elbow, ducking behind the boulders and into the dips and crevices in the rocks to keep from being seen. Not far. Not close enough to listen. Not even close enough to see. Not after...
He can feel his skin flushing red again and cursed his fair skin. No one was watching and he still felt the burn of remembered humiliation. It seemed that coming out West hadn't improved his record that way any. He closed his eyes, then stiffened his back and cautiously peeked around the rocks. He could just make them out, limned by the glare of the sunset, and squinted, staring into the sun until he started seeing spots and had to stop. Neither man turned. They didn't seem to be doing anything, and he slumped back down onto the ground behind the biggest of the concealing rocks.
Mr. Larabee was just -- just *everything* he'd been led to believe. Cool, sharp witted, so brave! And JD had gone and made a complete idiot of himself. Every daydreamed fantasy where he walked up to Mr. Larabee and was welcomed as a worthy companion was shattered, trampled into the dust right along with his hat and his dignity. He couldn't even pretend it was anyone's fault but his own. He'd screwed up his chances all by himself. He groaned, burying his face in one hand.
And now Mr. Tanner was probably going to even get the privilege of Mr. Larabee's bed as well as the right to call him 'Chris', he thought dejectedly. Chris.
Such a distinguished sort of name. Chris Larabee. The stuff of legends. Not like JD Dunne, who was apparently the stuff of burlesque.
He took a cautious peek over the rock, but the two men hadn't moved. At least they weren't sitting any closer than they had been. On the other hand, he wasn't sure they *could* get much more close together.
He dropped back to his hiding place and carefully undid the placket of his trousers. He hadn't done this since he'd arrived, and well. This was as close as he was going to get, so he might as well... think about narrowed eyes, a strong grip, soft, flyaway blond hair. Snapped orders. Powerful thighs. Slanting glances and swift, gun callused hands. He sighed, stiffening swiftly, and finished almost as fast. He bit at his free hand to keep quiet and not disturb them until he was done.
He scrubbed his hand through the sandy dirt to clean it and sighed. It wasn't much, but he was here. He *was* going to be a part of the fight. There was always another chance, another day. Maybe tomorrow would be better. He'd prove himself in battle. Buoyed on a renewed sense of optimism he tidied himself up and ambled back to the camp.
And who knew. Maybe he shouldn't dismiss his hopes so easily.